battered

It’s been a painful week. 

Monday, I picked Reese up from school bruised and scratched.  He, as usual, was loving on one of the ladies in his class and she, as usual, got a little “back off you’re all up in my space” and bit him.  Oh and she clawed his face.  He was pretty dejected when I picked him up, as was I.  I mean really?  Can’t he just NOT be injured at school anymore.  A huge bruised bite mark on his arm and pretty significant scratches on his face were enough to make me cry. 

Then yesterday Janet picked him up and found a note that said, “Reese bit one of his friends today.  He had to sit in time out.”  The note even had a frowny face. While I’m not exactly jumping for joy that Reese got his first “bad” note, I’m a little amused that he finally decided not to take the abuse from the girls in his class anymore.  Lofton and I rewarded him with a prize, but my guilt started to get to me so at prayer time we talked about how biting was not sweet and God wants us to love our friends.  Then we prayed for his friends in his class. 

As if all of that toddler-drama wasn’t traumatic enough, I was summoned out of class this morning by these dreaded words:  Mrs. Beasley you have a phone call on line one. 

Shoot.

It was daycare.  And Reese had fallen out of chair at the breakfast table.  I believe he was in the process of stealing someone else’s food. 

Of course he was. 

One busted lip plus a semi-detached thingy that connects your top lip to your gums and you have my busted toddler.  In my frantic drive across town I called the dentist {who doesn’t work on Friday}, the pediatrician {not on call today} and the pediatric dentist {also not at work on a Friday}.  I then called my dentist again, got the emergency number, and talked to a sweet hygienist who promptly met us at the office. 

The verdict?  Reese will survive. 

His lip/gum attacher will be forever unattached, but evidently that isn’t too big of a deal.  None of his teeth were loose, his lip isn’t bad enough to need stitches, and sweet boy was primarily upset because he didn’t get to eat breakfast.  A quick trip to Burger King solved his woes.  As did the arrival of super-daddy-o who took over duties for the day.  Gotta love a daddy who comes running when he hears the familiar, albeit dreaded, phrase, “Don’t panic but Reese had an accident at school.”

And now we are ready for a restful weekend.